Day of the Wolf
by Thenerdygeekyponders
Summary: Wolf they whisper in her mind, Wolf & Death & Human & Rose. She is standing before them in the hanger, their bodies twisted under the weight of their chains, bodies smeared in gore and dirt. Fenrisulfr The word is accusing, malicious. They fear and hate her in equal measure.


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_[I've always liked Bad Wolf, so here is something about her. A little nod to The Day of the Doctor, which I thought was pretty good, you know, despite the usual shoddy writing I feel we're getting. ANYWAY: Nope, not mine.] _

DAY OF THE WOLF

_Wolf _they whisper in her mind, _Wolf _& _Death _&_ Human & Rose. _

She is standing before them in the hanger, their bodies twisted under the weight of their chains, bodies smeared in gore and dirt.

Fenrisulfr

The word is accusing, malicious.

They fear and hate her in equal measure.

She steps forward, her feet heavy in her shoes, her heart beating a slow _one & two & three & four _in her chest. Fogged eyes find clear brown-gold, tongues loll in gross grotesquerie.

(It reminds her of Hell of the Void, of the blank expanse of nothing nothing nothing—)

_ Chant du Loup _they point, they indict, fingers gnarled pointing at her, clad in her blue leather coat, a shadow amongst aliens.

Faoiltiama they add, voices like a shushing wave, pulling her under.

(Closer and closer, she is nearly breaking the surface…)

_Malus Lupus _they nearly scream, their minds mad mad mad—

She pauses then, halfway down the rows, hands loose at her sides, her arms brushing against clothes she should not be wearing.

(White, creams, singed and torn, her in the future, her in now, a Bad Wolf to always stalk the ends of time, dance at the corners of minds, of eyes.)

"Is that what you call me?" she asks, eyes finding flinching, clouded ones. They shirk back, this once great race of warriors and scientists. "Fenrisulfr?"

_You are the Wolf. _

_The big, Bad Wolf. _

She laughs then, a bitter sound. With great care, she bends down on one knee, her body moving with a grace and ease of movement, that she has not experienced in ages.

"Am I?" she mocks back, voice barely heard above the roar of the great machine below them. It hums like a heartbeat, the sound vibrating in all of their bones. A rip in Time, the great black hole in the center of a planet. Oh, how foolish these little aliens are.

(But she is not real, she is not here, among these aliens, this Legion of monsters—)

"Am I the Bad Wolf? Am I Ragnarok?" she teases, tilting her head, lips stretching into a crooked, false smile. Her eyes flash bright gold once.

**"You are Death." **one hisses by reply, the one directly in front of her. It shifts back when she gazes at it steadily.

**"You are The Moment." **Another adds, just as wary when she spies it.

"Oh? Then you must know who and what I am." She says, pivoting on one knee, eyes raking the ranks of defeated soldiers.

_Death._

_Wolf._

_Angel._

_Demon._

_Human._

**"You are Rose Tyler."** The first Time Lord to speak utters. It rocks back and forth, carried away in the fury of the vision.

(For she is a prophecy wrapped in dream, not here not here not _here_—)

"I am." She grins with satisfaction. "Don't forget."

(And then she is falling falling falling falling…)

(A lonely doctor, a broken man trudging across a field, his hearts a weight in his chest.)

(A Moment, a cube, a thought, a spark, her.)

(_I am Bad Wolf, I create myself_.)

(And she smiles, a figure wrapped in white, in cream, a Madonna, a mother, a wolf, a death, psycho pomp of the highest order.)

(She knows how time works.)

(And she always loved a challenge.)


End file.
